The R.M.S. _Scythian_, homeward-bound, was steaming through the smooth
and fast darkening waters of Table Bay.
She had hauled out but two or three hours since, and now, as the
flashing light of Robben Island was dwindling astern, the second dinner
bell rang forth its welcome summons; welcome this evening, at any rate,
for, as we have said, the water was smooth, and it would take a very
determined sea-sick person indeed to remain away from table. So the
passengers, of which there was a full complement, trooped in, to a man
and to a woman, and there was much arranging of seats, and a little of
discontent with the result of such arrangement.
"This is your seat, sir. And the captain sends his compliments, and
hopes to be down before dinner is over."
Roden Musgrave took the seat indicated by the steward. It was the end
chair of one of the three long tables, which ran the length of the
saloon. That at the head of the table was the captain's chair, at
present empty. Unoccupied, too, was the seat on the captain's right.
The others were all filled.
He cast a careless glance over the brilliantly lighted saloon, with its
sparkle of plate and glass and coloured fruit, and vari-hued
dinner-dresses. There were a great many passengers of the usual type.
Some might prove good company. Those in his own immediate neighbourhood
did not look interesting.
In silence he began his dinner, for he felt depressed. It seemed but
yesterday that he was seated exactly as he was now, yet more than a year
had gone by since then. A year is nothing of a time, but this had been
_such_ a year--for it had comprised a great experience. And now he was
leaving this land, whither he had come to try his latter-day fortune;
leaving it for ever; himself in far worse case than when he had first
sighted it. A hand dropped on his shoulder, and his musings were
dispelled.
"Well, Musgrave, I'm glad we're to have the voyage home together, and it
has come about sooner than either of us expected." And Captain Cheyne,
resplendent in gold lace and shining buttons, slid into his seat at the
head of the table. They had met already on board and exchanged a
hurried greeting in the bustle of hauling out, but had had no time for
more than a word.
"Yes, I arranged it so, when I saw that you had got this ship. I say,
though," looking around. "She's a cut above the old _Siberian_, both in
size and fittings, eh?"
"She is. Well, and how have you been getting on? Been at that place--
er--er--I forgot the name--that none of us knew where to find, ever
since?"
"No. I've just come off Pilgrim's Rest gold-fields, so called,
presumably, because the `pilgrims' leave there the _rest_ of whatever
they took with them."
Two or three in the neighbourhood laughed at this, and the conversation
became general. But Roden dropped out of it. Mechanically, he took up
the wine-list, and began studying it. While thus engaged he heard the
rustle of skirts. The occupant of the empty chair was seating herself.
Even then, so utterly without interest in her identity was he, that he
did not immediately look up.
"Shockingly late, I'm afraid, Captain Cheyne. But I was doing a lot of
unpacking, and time ran on."
Then he did look up, and that sharply. The whole room seemed to go
round, yet outwardly he was as composed and imperturbable of feature as
ever he had been in his life. But even to him that moment brought a
powerful shock. For, in the occupant of the hitherto vacant chair, he
found himself, thus suddenly, unexpectedly, marvellously, face to face
with Mona Ridsdale.
Her apologetic remark, laughingly made, ended with a little catch of the
voice, as she caught sight of him. She, too, was undergoing her share
of surprise, marvel, agitation, but was bravely self-possessed. The
quickened heave of the full, beautiful bosom, as revealed by the low-cut
dinner-dress, and the wide, appealing dilation of the clear, hazel eyes,
were read in all their significance by one; but to the rest they might
be due to a not unnatural flurry, consequent on her late appearance.
Then both heard, as a far-away, misty-sounding hum, the voice of the
captain, introducing them to each other.
This was a happy solution. In their present state of mind, any
admission or sign that they were previously acquainted, could not fail
to afford some indication of the nature of that acquaintance; and more
especially did this hold good of Mona. At any rate, it would draw
attention to them both; which in the agitation evoked by this startling
surprise was the very last thing they desired. But luckily, the
conversation, once it had become general, did not drop; the more so,
that a voluble lady, two seats off, began asking the captain question
after question of the usual type, varying between the mildly idiotic,
and the hopelessly, frantically insane, such as whether he had ever seen
so many passengers not sea-sick before; or, if they would reach Plymouth
at night or in the daytime--Plymouth then being three weeks distant--or
whether a ship like the _Scythian_ would sink at once, if rammed by a
sword-fish, or would allow them sufficient time to take to the boats.
All of which caused the captain to nudge Roden under the table, while
his bronzed and handsome visage wore a comical look of resigned,
hopeless patience.
"Remember our last glass together, Musgrave?" he said, as soon as he
could conversationally break away. "We'll do a first one again now," as
the steward deftly popped the cork of a champagne bottle. "What do you
think, Miss Ridsdale? When we dropped anchor in the bay he found
himself appointed to some place up-country. He bet me a bottle of this
stuff I couldn't tell him where it was, and he won, for, by George, I
couldn't. The best of the joke was, _we_ could hardly find any one who
did know. What was the name of the place, Musgrave?"
"Doppersdorp."
"Doppersdorp. Of course it was. We passed the word, `Where's
Doppersdorp?' and hanged if any one knew. Well, I suppose you found it
at last?"
"Oh yes."
"Did you go to the gold-fields from there?"
"No, I put in about a month at a place called Barabastadt, with my old
friends the Van Stolzes. He's R.M. up there now."
"Van Stolz? I know him," said the captain. "He used to be in the
Customs, or something, at Port Elizabeth years ago. He was only there a
little while though. A thick-set, brisk, jolly little man, isn't he?"
"Yes. That's him."
"I remember him. Good sort of chap, although he's a Dutchman."
"Good sort of chap!" echoed Roden. "I should rather say he was. He's a
rare specimen in this world, I can tell you. One who once a man's
friend remains so for life."
Mona bent down over her plate to hide the sudden rush which welled to
her eyes. He was too cruel. The tone--light, easy, cynical--conveyed
no special meaning to the other listener. But to her--ah! she felt the
full force of its lash. During the foregoing, the other passengers had
fallen into their own conversation, leaving this to the trio who are our
special acquaintances. But if Roden edged his words with a bitter
sting, discernible only to the ears of the one who knew what lay behind
them, it was that he felt bitter at that moment--cruelly, remorselessly
bitter. Why had she thus risen up before him to revive the sweet and
witching mockery of that utterly hollow past? There she sat, in all the
bewildering beauty of her splendid form, all grace and seductiveness;
she who had so passionately, so fervidly vowed herself his--his for ever
in life and in death. There she sat, only the width of the narrow table
between them, yet as far removed as though an impassable gulf a thousand
miles in breadth divided them. For she had fallen away from him in the
hour of trial, and his faith in her was killed. `For ever in life and
in death!' had been the hollow ringing vow. `In death?' Ah! that might
be; in life, never. And then a strange, weird, ghostly presentiment
came upon him, like the black edge of a shadow, as he sat there
satiating his eyes with this vision of a most entrancing embodiment of
deception, the while mechanically sustaining his share or the
conversation.
The saloon was brilliant with light and life, cheerful with voices, for
the crowded diners had now found their tongues, presumably about halfway
down the gradually decreasing bottles. Laughter?--Oh yes, plenty of
that--airy feminine laughter--with the explosive male guffaw. Knives
and forks clattered, corks popped. Oh, plenty of light and life here;
but without--the dark waters, deep and wide, the dim expanse of
unfathomable ocean lying black beneath the stars. "For ever--in life
and in death."
"And how many big nuggets did you pick up on the gold-fields, Musgrave?"
said the captain presently.
"Nuggets? Fever's more plentiful around there than nuggets, and dust
than gold-dust," answered Roden wearily. "The place is a fraud."
His _vis-a-vis_ was watching him now. Yet the feeling which she had so
valiantly repressed came near overpowering her once more, as she noted
the change which had crept over his appearance. He seemed to have aged,
to have grown leaner and browner, as though he had gone through a hard,
hard struggle, bodily and mental, of late. And from the bronzed
complexion, wind-swept, sun-tanned by months of open-air life, of toil
and exposure, the strange double scar seemed thrown out more prominent,
more livid than ever. It was marvellous, well-nigh miraculous, that
they should have met again thus.
She too showed traces of the struggle. There was a tired, wistful look
about the eyes, the suspicion of a melancholy droop at the corners of
the mouth, which imparted to her face a very different expression to
that of the self-loving, self-indulgent, and rather heartless Mona whom
he had first beheld reclining easily, sensuously, in her hammock under
the green willows at Quaggasfontein, now more than a year ago. Had she
too suffered? Why then had she been found so lamentably wanting when
put to the ordeal? Surely a nature which had proved so weak could have
no great capacity for suffering, at any rate, for any length of time.
No, it was all a most miserable mistake, all too late. This wonderfully
unexpected meeting had shaken him more than he cared to allow. The
wound, barely skinned over during these six months or so, now broke open
again and bled afresh--bled copiously. More careless, more terse became
the tone of his conversation, and beneath it lurked a biting cynical
sting, as of the lash of a whip.--Not altogether could his glance
refrain from that royally moulded form opposite him, and meeting the
tender, wistful appeal of those clear hazel eyes, there shot from his
own a flash as of contempt too deep even for resentment. Thus did he
arm, fence himself against his own weakness.
The dinner was over at last, and several of the ladies were already
leaving the saloon. Mona rose.
"I think I will go on deck for a little," she said. "Is this delicious
smooth weather going to continue, Captain Cheyne? I am a most wretched
sailor."
The captain responded gallantly that he devoutly trusted it would, and
she left them. And now that her presence was withdrawn, it seemed to
Roden that a blank had fallen. Yet he had but to ascend the companion
stairs. It seemed to him that her very announcement embodied an
invitation. Still he remained as firmly fixed in his seat as though
nailed there. And nailed there he was--by the long, jagged, rusty, and
passingly strong iron of an unbending pride. She had turned from him
once; was he to go begging to her feet now? No--no. A thousand times,
no.
"Nice girl, isn't she?" said Cheyne, reseating himself and refilling
Roden's glass. "Fine-looking girl, too."
"She seems alone. Is she under your charge?"
"Not exactly that. She came on board at Port Elizabeth, and I made them
put her place next me here at the table. When I got your letter saying
you were going to join us at Cape Town, I moved those other people a
place up. At any rate, we'll have a snug corner for the voyage, eh?"
Another surprise was in store for Roden. A group of male passengers who
had occupied places at the far end of the saloon was passing them on the
way out. Before he could reply his glance was attracted by the face of
one of these. It was that of Lambert.
Their glances met. Far less under the control of his feelings than the
other the young surgeon gave a violent start, and a half-uttered
exclamation escaped him as he met the indifferent, contemptuous gaze of
the man whom he had injured. But quickly recovering himself, he passed
out with the others.
Lambert, of all people in the world! What on earth was the fellow doing
here on board? Oh, the reason was not far to seek, he thought, in
derisive pity for his own weakness, with which during the last hour he
had been so exhaustively battling. And yet things didn't seem to fit
in, for here was Mona sitting alone at the captain's table, while
Lambert was right away at the other end of the saloon. That was not the
explanation. It might be a coincidence that the two were on board
together, just as his own presence there was. As before at Doppersdorp,
so now, Lambert did not count for anything in the affair.
"Seems to me, Cheyne, you've got all Doppersdorp on board," he said.
"First Miss Ridsdale, then that cotton-headed chap who just went out.
Now trot out a few more of them."
The captain stared--then laughed.
"So you knew each other before, did you? Deep dog, Musgrave, deep dog!"
"Oh yes, considering I was there the best part of a year," he replied,
offhandedly. "But that fellow you saw just now making faces at me is a
good bit of a sweep. I don't care about having much to do with him."
Lambert's presence on board did away with the expediency, or indeed the
advisability of reticence, and it was as well to tell his own story
first. So they sat there a little longer, and he gave Cheyne a sort of
outline of a good deal--though not all--that had befallen him since they
said good-bye to each other last.
"Come round to my cabin for a smoke before turning in, Musgrave," said
Cheyne, as he rose from the table. "I must go on the bridge a bit now,
but I'll send and let you know when I come down."
Quite a goodly number of passengers were sitting about, or walking the
deck, as Roden emerged from the companion. It was a lovely night, and
great masses of stars hung in the zenith, their reflections mirrored
forth on the smooth surface of the sea, rivalling the phosphorescent
flashes glancing like will-o'-the-wisps rising and falling in the dark
depths. The loom of the coastline was hardly discernible, for the
captain chose to keep plenty of sea room along that dangerous and
rock-fringed shore; but the moist, dewy atmosphere, fresh with the salt
breaths of the great deep, was delicious; and ever with the voices and
laughter of the passengers mingled the steady clanging of the engines,
and the mighty churning throb of the propeller, and the soft, soughing
wash of the scintillating, blade-like wave curving away on each side of
the cut-water of the great vessel.
Roden, moving leisurely in the gloom, tried to persuade himself he was
glad, for his eyes rested not upon that well-known form; and in all good
faith he did not feel certain whether he was or not, so over-powering
had been the shock of the surprise. Then, leaning over the bulwarks, he
gazed meditatively forth across the starlit waste of black waters to
where the uncertain loom of the land was fading on their starboard
quarter, and as he did so all the morbid side of his character came to
the fore. Was ever a more utterly forlorn, aimless, God-forsaken
wanderer afloat on life's sea? Here he was returning, with what object
he knew not, poorer in pocket, a good ten years chipped out of his
life--at least it seemed so--and nothing to look forward to on this side
the rave. And by a strange coincidence, separated from him only by the
few inches of iron and planking immediately beneath his feet, stood one
other gazing forth through the open scuttle at the same starlit scene of
sky and sea. With a weariful sigh Mona turned away from the window;
then, opening her dressing bag, she took out a small bottle and held it
to the light. Yes, she would do it. Only a few drops. Sleep was what
she wanted--sleep, sleep--blessed--oblivious sleep, sweet,
illusion-bringing sleep.